I sat on the damp pavement of a dimly lit back alley, my chest still heaving from the adrenaline rush of my grand escape. My fur—yes, literal fur—was matted with dirt and grime, my claws still aching from scaling fences, scrambling across rooftops, and digging into steel ladders like my life depended on it. Spoiler: it absolutely did.

The memory of Bakugo's snarling, fiery presence and Todoroki's ice-cold precision played on a loop in my mind. Honestly, they were terrifying. Strong, coordinated, and relentless, the perfect predators. But me? I was better. Or so I thought.

I leaned back against the brick wall, staring up at the sliver of night sky visible between the towering buildings. The stars twinkled mockingly, as if they knew something I didn't. My tail flicked behind me, the only outlet for the storm of emotions brewing inside.

I let out a slow, shuddering breath, trying to shake the weight of what had just happened. "Okay, Izuku," I muttered to myself, "you didn't die. That's step one. Step two... oh, right. Step two was killing Red Riot."

The realization hit me like a freight train.

My eyes widened, and I bolted upright, my claws scraping against the ground. "Oh. My. Gods." My voice echoed in the empty alley, the words dripping with disbelief and horror.

I hadn't killed him.

How could I have forgotten the literal point of my mission? The reason I was there in the first place? The one task I'd been hired to do?

"Seriously, brain?" I growled, pacing in frantic circles like a cat that just realized it locked itself in a bathroom. "You had one job. One!"

My tail lashed violently as I replayed the events in my mind. There I was, poised in my hiding spot, ready to strike like the deadly assassin I was supposed to be. But then, of course, the universe decided to throw me under the metaphorical bus.

I tripped. Fell. Tumbled into the open like some kind of slapstick comedy reject.

And instead of regrouping, re-strategizing, and completing my mission like a professional, I panicked. I fled.

"Pathetic," I spat, slamming my fist against the wall. The impact stung, but I didn't care. I needed to feel something other than the boiling frustration coursing through my veins.

My claws flexed involuntarily, scraping against the brick. "All those hours of planning, wasted. Do you even know how much tea I had to chug to stay up late mapping out every detail? And for what? To end up as the world's most incompetent assassin?"

I kicked a discarded can, sending it clattering down the alley. The sound echoed in the stillness, a sharp reminder of just how alone I was.

But it wasn't just the failure that stung. It was the humiliation. Bakugo and Todoroki had seen me—cornered me. They didn't know who I was, sure, but that didn't matter. They'd seen enough to know I was a threat, and now they'd be hunting me down like the predators they were.

And I? I couldn't even cross off step two of my plan.

I raked a hand through my hair, pulling at the strands in frustration. "This is fine," I muttered, the sarcasm in my voice barely masking the panic bubbling beneath. "Totally fine. Not like my client is going to lose their mind when they find out I let Red Riot walk away. Nope. Definitely won't involve more yelling or, you know, slapping me into the next dimension."

I froze mid-step, realization dawning like a slap to the face. If I didn't finish the job, I couldn't go back. Not without consequences.

My claws flexed again, carving shallow grooves into my palms. I didn't want to go back to that client, to their icy glares and cruel hands. But I also couldn't let this failure slide.

"I'll fix this," I growled, my voice low and dangerous. "I have to."

My tail lashed behind me as I clenched my fists, determination hardening into a razor-sharp edge. I wasn't done. Not by a long shot.

Red Riot might've walked away tonight, but he wouldn't get far.

And next time? Next time, there wouldn't be a misstep.

I would make sure of it.